


Ambition

by ScreamingSpacePastel



Series: Septiplier is(n't) dead [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, I said I would upload this when I finished this, PRT short story, angsty fluff, father/daughter fluff, well here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreamingSpacePastel/pseuds/ScreamingSpacePastel
Summary: She's frustrated by a PRT source.Her Father is here to help.





	Ambition

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to my friend Aislin for looking over my work!
> 
> Also, I still am not off my hiatus (sadly), however I wanted to upload this. This one-shot is actually a Personal Response to Text, which was an assignment for my English class today, and I mayyy have gone a little overboard for the short story, but WHATEVER I love to write this. Anyways, enjoy your angsty/meta/fluffy one-shot!

“And corn grow so high that if you stood in the field you’d disappear, the fact aiming your eyes down the road.” She read aloud to the empty room. The framed photos hung still on the light purple wall, pictures of the loving family that was once real, and the happy couple that were her parents smiled to the dead air. The bed laid in ruins as the dust slowly danced on the dirtied surfaces she neglected. The desk lamp was on and the warm light made her skin tingle with delight, signing with happiness for some care, as the sunlight died many hours ago. She stared at the poem, blue eyes narrowing at the strange text. There was a theme that had to be there, as there always was one, but nothing was rearing its head to face her. Sure, they had gone over it in class, but the class was simply a battleground for her, not a place to learn.

“Corn grow so high. That’s a familiar line to me, but from where?” She sighed, as she pulled her long blonde hair into a messy bun. Her fingers itched to write something, but there was nothing to write if you didn’t understand the theme. “What is it? Why can’t I think of it?”

“Why can’t you think of what?” A rich baritone voice asked from a distance. Turning around, she saw her father standing in his plain t-shirt and sweatpants. “What’s got you so stressed Annabelle?”

“Oh, it’s nothing Father. Just a stupid PRT for English.” She replied, glaring at the bright screen. Her cardigan was pushed up to the elbows, as she facepalmed herself. What was the theme here? 

The dust began to dance around the man, as he gracefully moved over to the struggling teen. His tanned skin was shimmering in the light, warm chocolate eyes watching carefully while he ran a hand through his raven hair. “It certainly isn’t nothing. You are the best writer I’ve known aside from Tyler. So if you are struggling, you must be stumped by it.”

She felt his armrest on her shoulder, making her tilt slightly to the left. She felt the small pieces of hair flutter on her neck, as he muttered the words to himself, the words swaying in the air. The mirror was leaving a small glare mark on the desk, as the jewels from the mirror shone in the slightly darkened room. The tickets and posters shifted slightly, as the ventilation system started up.

“ Well, I think the theme is ambition there. The kid is bigger than he was before, but when he went back home, even the corn was bigger than him.” He replied, leaning back into the chair.

“Really? That’s what you took away from that?” Annabelle asked curiously, turning around in her chair to face her father. It only hit her once he said ambition. She didn’t hear it from her teacher when the spitballs were being spat at her, eyes closed and covered to prevent any damage.

“Yeah. But how do you connect it?” He replied, warm chocolate eyes connecting with sapphire ones, a question hanging still in the air. He already knew the answer though. He knew that answer from the moment his brother yelled in her face, saying that her parents were never coming back. Her ambition to get revenge was evident from the moment she sought out her other dad.

“I don’t know. I don’t think my teacher would be interested in my story to avenge my Papa and Daddy.” She mumbled quietly, turning to face the wall of photos. She still couldn’t believe that it had been seven years since they died. “And I don’t think she’s interested in my traumatizing memories.”

“Hey, who knows? Maybe if you write it well enough.” He said, patting her on the back gently. She flinched a little, but she didn’t shy away from the gentle gesture. “Are you going to write about that day William yelled at you?”

“I don’t know honestly. I’ve kinda hit a writer's’ block here.” She said as she reached across the desk to grab her opal knife. “I guess I could write about that, but would she even care?” 

The light refracted through the multi-coloured knife, lighting the room up with joy. But the weight of the atmosphere pushed down on his heart. She shouldn’t have to choose between scarring events in her life to write about. No kid should even have to consider what they might have to do when they’re parents died. His hand remained on her back, rubbing circles into the cardigan. He felt her shoulders shake, as the air from the vents made the dust dance once again.

“Damien, do you think they will come back? My Daddy and Papa, Sean and Mark?” She asked, voice broken with hot tears. There was a lump in her throat, as she tried to force the words out through a cotton filled mouth. “Do you think they would be proud of what I’m doing? Planning a murder of a family member, just to avenge them?”

She sobbed, into her hands, knife falling into her lap, as waves of shame washed over her. “Would they be proud of my ambitions?”

Damien was silent, as he moved Annabelle from the desk. He shut the computer, shut the pain away for a moment, before picking her up. He moved slowly, walking over to the destroyed bed, setting her down like a small child. “Shh. It doesn’t matter now Annabelle. They are gone for now. All we can do is ask and hope.”

“But do you think they would be proud of my ambitions?” She asked again, as the covers were pulled up around her shoulders. She let the warmth of the blankets soothe her, as the man sat down next to her bed. 

“I don’t know.” He mumbled as he laid his head down on the bed. It had been so long since he’d seen his brother Mark and his husband Sean. He missed them dearly and even wondered if they watched over the dysfunctional family that they’d become. He often asked the empty air for answers because he and Anthony didn’t know how to raise their little girl, only they did. Only did the two men, whose hair looked like a Christmas tree, really knew how to raise Annabelle. He sighed as he remembered the days of when he would take her out to see musicals, and how those days were now replaced with constant knife fights and silent rooms. Photos that were filled with joyful memories were now replaced with deadly ambitions and sorrowful tears. 

He turned to face the blue-eyed teen and grabbed her left hand. The two gold rings that she had inherited from her dead father's’ glinted in the light from the desk, Celtic knots matte against the shimmering gold. “I wish William never pulled that trigger.” He said to no one in particular, fighting back the tears as he remembered that horrid scene, the gunshot ringing in his ears. It still gave him nightmares, as he remembered the feeling of the couple’s body resting against his chest, no signs of life, while his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. It was one of the few things in life that haunt him at night. “I wish they would come back.” He said, as a tear slid out from his eye and fell onto the sheets.

What had been William’s ambition, that day he murdered his brother and his husband in cold blood?

Annabelle squeezed his hand, shifting a little to properly face her father. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” She asked quietly, pulling back the covers a little. Damien sat on the ground for a few seconds, before standing up to turn off the light. The moonlight came to life through the blinds, as it’s gentle glow filled the room.

“Anthony is gone for work reasons, and I’d rather sleep in a warm bed.” He replied as he slid in beside Annabelle. She smiled, and drew close to his a warm body, relishing in the feeling of him petting her hair, taking the messy bun out of her hair. “Besides, I miss snuggles with you, since you lock yourself away from the world.”

“I know. I’m guilty of that, and I’m sorry. I’d rather not look weak to the world and to you. I just... my ambitions scare me sometimes.” She mumbled as she closed her eyes.

“Oh Annabelle, you will never be weak in my eyes. Your drive and story are what inspire me to keep working every day.” Damien replied, fingers threading through her golden hair, the moonlight illuminating each strand. “You are so strong, and I love you for that. You are my daughter, and nothing will change that.”

She sighed, slowly giving into sleep, feeling safe and secure in her adoptive father’s arms. “Thank you, Papa. I love you too.” 

He smiled, as he closed his eyes. The stars came out to meet the moon, dancing with dust in the room, and the nightmare fled from the peaceful scene in the room where security reigned with a gentle hand, as father and daughter relished in the warm sheets and the ambitions of daily life died away.

**Author's Note:**

> I never really say this, but I ABSOLUTELY love reading are responding to your comments. Thank you guys so much for being patience with me while I'm trying to work on school.
> 
> And as always, kudos and comments are appreciated and loved.


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